With Every Day That Pass
by UchiHime
Summary: Companion to "With Every Tear That Falls"... a look into the beginning of a bad relationship... still Draco's POV, but eventually I'm gonna upload one or two stories from Harry's POV...


**With Every Day That Pass**

Wars have a way of bringing people together.

Even though, in the beginning, we were on opposite sides of the battlefield, I still say if the war hadn't happened, he and I would have never become "us".

He was broken after the war. He seemed lost and alone. Everyone around him had mourned their dead and was starting to move on. But he'd been stuck in the past, unable to move forward. He told me he felt as if he's lost his worth once his job had been done.

It was two year after the war when I had found him sitting alone in the shadowed corner of a pub. His green eyes were lifeless.

Even with all the time that had passed, he was still being herald for his deeds and I was still being condemned for mine.

He was a hero and I was a villain. The fact that no one approved is what made it even more thrilling.

We talked for a while and I could see how lost he felt. I could see how alone he was.

At the time, I was lost and alone too. I who used to revel in being the center of attention, who was accustomed to being surrounded by people and the subject of awe and envy, was alone. And I hated it.

We never really settled our differences. The past we had was too much to sweep under the rug. Still, he and I came together out of fear of being alone.

I told him I loved him first, and even as I said it I knew it was a lie. I only said it because I knew it was what he wanted to hear. With every day that passed, I felt more comfortable with my lie.

The first time we had sex, he cried and the tears tasted so sweet on my tongue.

I don't know when I decided that I loved his tears.

With me by his side, life began to return to his eyes. He smiled more. He laughed more. He was happy.

I was bitter.

I had lost so much during the war and in the aftermath of it. Part of me blamed him.

I drank to ease my pain. He didn't like that, because when I was drunk I was honest. I told him that I never loved him and never would. He blamed it on the drink, convinced himself that I was lying because of my intoxication. I let him believe that.

I was sober the first time I hurt him.

He had been laughing and telling me about his visit with his friends. I don't know why I did it. I grabbed a handful of his hair, yanked it with all my might, and slammed his face against a wall.

He looked at me with such surprise as he fell to the floor. The act of violence had quite literally come out of nowhere. I was surprised as well.

I stared into his green eyes that were welling up with tears.

I didn't say I was sorry, because I wasn't. I wasn't sorry at all. I had hurt him for no reason, and I didn't feel remorse. In fact, what I felt was quite the opposite. Hurting him filled me with a strange euphoria.

So, I didn't apologize, but I knew I had to say something.

"I love you," I said.

The tears in his eyes spilled over, and he began to sob.

I knelt beside him and wrapped him in my arms. I still didn't apologize, and I didn't promise never to do it again.

"Hush now," I told him. "I love you."

And just like that, I was forgiven.

I drank to ease my pain, and though he hated it, he stopped complaining, because when I was drunk I was honest, but when I was sober I was a monster.

I think he preferred me sober, because those were the only times he'd ever hear me say those three words he needed so much to hear.

I pushed him down the stairs. I stabbed him with a knife. I yanked out his hair. I slammed him against walls. I dropped him high from off my broom. I slapped him across the face. I pinned him down and raped him.

I never said I'm sorry.

I always said I loved him.

He accepted the pain in silence.

It hurt him more when I was drunk, because I wouldn't say I loved him. He would whether deal with me sober, because he needed to hear those words.

Once, I tied him to the bed, and cut off his clothes with a knife. He begged me to stop, but I was much too sober. He cried so hard. His tears were so sweet.

He wasn't happy anymore. He didn't laugh. He didn't smile. I saw his eyes losing life with every day that passed.

It was like back when I first met him, when he was lost and lonely from the war.

Something in me told me, that I shouldn't hurt him anymore. I had to let him go. I knew that that would only hurt him more.


End file.
